


Could You Tell It From the Moment That I Met You?

by Kriegsandharris



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kriegsandharris/pseuds/Kriegsandharris
Summary: Isa joins Florence on a Christmas trip with her family and finally discovers more about the song she always knew was about her.c/w: briefly mentions some of the darker parts of "The End of Love" (suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt)
Relationships: Isabella Summers/Florence Welch
Comments: 55
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Florence was never a big fan of the last week of the year.

Christmas was fun as a kid until her parents separated, and then it just became a painful reminder that her family was broken when she and her siblings would be picked up promptly at noon from her mother’s house to go spend the rest of the day with her father and his parents.

When she reached her late teens, Christmases meant hangovers so bad that it would take her mother screaming at her to even get out of bed.

Then when she started achieving fame, Christmases meant quickly taking whatever red-eye was booked back to London, only to spend a day or two being reminded of how little her family understood her, before being swept away to whatever was next on the itinerary.

Looking back, Florence realizes that she had never had the same boyfriend for more than one Christmas; unless you counted her first one where they had a one-year break in between their two Christmases together. For her, it is painful to think she had so much of an issue with stability that she couldn’t hold someone down for more than one holiday season.

New Year’s was its own problem as well. Florence had always hated change, and every year she would watch the clock tick down and then feel her heart sink as she realized that the year was over. It would always feel like whatever she had gained that year was gone as soon as the clock struck midnight; it was terrifying to have a huge, blank, 365 day slate in front of her that she was expected to fill with productivity and success.

Back in London after a year of touring, she feels lonely. She had moved into a new, nicer house in a more private area, which she was originally thrilled about, but the white walls and piles of boxes are now just a constant reminder of how much work she needs to get done before she can finally enjoy the space.

Sitting in a chair in the corner of the bright living room with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, she mindlessly scrolls through Instagram. The morning sun illuminates the empty, white space, and Florence’s chest feels heavy as she robotically skims the captions, likes the photos, and then scrolls some more. Ever since the tour had ended, she’s been in one of those weird states where she isn’t  _ quite _ in a full on depressive episode, but she doesn’t feel motivated to do anything at all.

This normally wouldn’t be much of a problem during a long break from work, but her anxiety, on the other hand, is constantly reminding her that she isn’t doing enough, that she is falling behind.

On  _ what _ , she isn’t exactly sure. She has no deadlines in front of her, nowhere to be, and no one to answer to. But sitting in her living room, still in her pyjamas sipping on bad coffee at eleven in the morning, it feels as if her mind might explode as the anxious side of her brain fights with the somber side.

Realizing she’s not even taking the time to comprehend the images on her screen, she locks her phone and puts it down along with her coffee on the floor. Meditation had always proved useful for when she got caught in this weird feeling, and she decides to try and do just ten minutes. She straightens herself up and tries to empty her mind, to focus on her breathing and nothing else. 

This lasts for all of a minute before her phone is buzzing on the hardwood floor. 

“ _ For fucks sake _ ,” she says as she reaches down and turns it over to find her mother's contact illuminating the screen.

Grudgingly, she answers. “Hi mum,” she draws out as nicely as she can with just a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? It’s nearly noon love.”   


Florence rolls her eyes. “No, you didn’t. I was just unpacking boxes,” she lies, looking at the numerous untouched boxes staring back at her from across the room. 

“ _ Still _ unpacking?”   


“Yeah, I have a lot of stuff.”   


“Hmm. Well I was calling to see if you’ve talked to Grace about Galveston, but I’m guessing not since you’re so busy  _ unpacking _ .”   


“Galveston?” Florence asks with confusion.

Her mother sighs. “Flo, you told me you were coming months ago. Please don’t tell me you’ve made other plans.”   


Florence wracks her brain, and suddenly remembers the brief phone conversation she had with her mother awhile ago, somewhere on a tour bus in America. They had gone to Galveston to spend Christmas with her mother’s family every three years for the past decade, and this year would be no different. Her grandparents had left behind their huge house on the coast to her mother and uncle, and they had kept it as a vacation house of sorts, making good use of it during sporadic family reunions.

“Oh yeah, right,” she says with a grimace on her face. She had already made plans with Isa to spend the night on Christmas so that they could catch up and commiserate in their loneliness and how overrated they think the holidays are. She does her best to conceal her disappointment over the phone. “Sorry, I knew that, I’ve just been busy with the house and everything,” she lies again.

“ _ Right _ ,” Evelyn replies knowingly. “So you’ll be ready to go on Sunday?”

“ _ Sunday _ ?” Florence asks indignantly. “We’re leaving in two days?”

Evelyn sighs again. “So I take it you  _ haven’t _ talked to your sister. She found a direct flight going out but it leaves Sunday at six in the morning.”

Florence mouths several expletives before responding audibly. “I’ll be ready,” she says, rubbing her face with her hand. 

“This will be a good trip,” Evelyn says. “I’m excited for Dan and Bonnie to meet everyone, and JJ is bringing his girlfriend.”   


“Mm,” Florence says. At this point, her mother is just rubbing in the fact that she is once again going alone.    


“And we’ll get some time together!” she adds quickly, suddenly remembering that Florence will be by herself.   


“Yeah,” Florence says, trying her best to give into her mother’s excitement about the trip. “It’ll be good.”   
  


Once she finally gets off the phone, she immediately calls Isa.

“Hello?” Isa says with a raspy voice.   


“What are you doing today and tomorrow?”   


Isa laughs in confusion as she paces around her grandmother’s house, throwing odds and ends into boxes. “Just packing things away, not much really.”   


“Oh good. My mother just called—I  _ completely _ forgot that Christmas is cancelled this year.”   


“Oh  _ fuck _ , it’s a Texas year isn’t it,” Isa says across the line. 

“It’s a Texas year indeed,” Florence sighs. “Come over? Like,  _ now _ ?”

“Well seems like there’s no time to waste,” Isa says, putting down the box she is holding in her free hand. “Gimme like an hour or so and I’ll be there. I’ll pick up lunch?”   
Florence sighs with relief. “Perfect. I’ll have the cringey rom-coms and mochas ready.”

  
Florence uses the hour to take a shower and make her bed. She had been so worried about Isa, and she feels horrible that she is changing their plans so last minute. A quiet Christmas in with Isa sounded like a welcome change from the typical hustle and bustle, and after the year she’d had, Isa probably needed it too. After stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Florence quickly changes into a plain t-shirt and sweatpants before wrapping her hair up into a towel turban. 

In the kitchen, she has a small box full of Isa’s gifts, which she quickly wraps using an old roll of wrapping paper in one of the brown boxes labeled  _ CHRISTMAS _ in her front-room. She also pulls out a tiny fake Christmas tree, and places it on her kitchen table before arranging Isa’s gifts underneath it. She plugs in the pre-strung lights, and suddenly the space feels a lot more homey. 

Just as she finishes lighting a pine-scented candle, there is a knock at the door. She opens it up and quickly embraces Isa, nearly knocking her over.

“You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a year,” Isa laughs. 

“A month might as well be a year after being on the road for so long,” Florence says, letting her go. She takes the bag of food from her hand and leads her in. 

“The place looks…about the same as it did in April,” Isa says with a slight laugh as she looks around the empty, white space.   


Florence nods as she puts the food down on the table. “I know, I know. I just really haven’t felt up to unpacking.”   


Isa smiles. “Yeah, I feel that. I just started packing away everything.”   


Immediately, Florence feels guilty. “I’m sorry I even said that, you—”   


Isa shakes her off. “It’s been a weird year for us both. No need to apologize for anything,” she says, getting plates from the cabinets.   


“How are you doing? We never really talked about that,” Florence says, referencing her grandmother’s passing a few months ago. She had gotten really sick while they were in America, and passed in the week after they returned, thankfully giving Isa a bit of time to say goodbye.

“I’m okay. She hadn’t been home in so long, and it was just time. I mean, she was 98 and she had been doing so well up until last year. She lived a really great life and it ended peacefully. I think I’m as okay as I can be with it now.”   


Florence nods her head as Isa puts their food on the plates. “I know you had a really special relationship with her. I’m glad you got to be housemates for awhile there.”    


Isa smiles, thinking back to when her sweet grandmother offered her up the entire upstairs of her house when she was struggling to find a place to live close to London a few years back. “Yeah,” Isa says. “Me too.”

Once their stomachs are full, they spend a bit of time unboxing Florence’s things, starting with a box full of old photos. They find old mementos and setlists and polaroids, and have a good time sitting on the ground, sorting through things that would either stay in the boxes, get pinned to a wall, or be worthy enough to be placed in a frame.

“Oh my god,” Isa says, stumbling across an incredibly old polaroid from the night they met. “Look, Flo.”    


Florence turns around and studies the picture. Florence is laughing at something, and Isa is looking at her with an amused facial expression as she stands behind a set of tables. There are headphones around her neck, and her hair is still dark—it was long before she had fried it with bleach. Florence’s hair is still dark too in the photo, taken a few months before she had discovered the joys of red henna dye. 

“Oh my god, we were  _ so _ little,” Florence says with a laugh. “I remember meeting you and thinking you were the coolest person ever. I was kind of obsessed.”   
Isa cackles. “And  _ I  _ remember thinking  _ holy shit if this girl can sing like that inebriated, she must have the voice of a literal angel when sober _ .” 

Florence bursts into raucous laughter before turning the photo over. “August 20th,  _ 2005 _ ,” she says with a small whistle. “I was what, eighteen?”

Isa nods. “So that was a  _ long _ fucking time ago, you old woman you.”

Florence laughs and playfully hits Isa in the arm. “Shut up, you've gained just as many years as I have.”   


Isa laughs before taking the photo back and carefully putting it in the ‘frame’ pile. 

After a day full of nostalgia and movies and a small gift exchange, Florence and Isa both change into the matching Christmas pyjamas Florence bought and get ready for bed.    


“Oh my  _ god _ , I always forget you put on toothpaste before water you freak,” Isa says as Florence lifts her toothbrush to her mouth. 

“ _ How else are you supposed to do it _ ?” she mumbles, desperately trying to keep the toothpaste from running down her chin. 

Isa laughs. “Like a normal person.”   


Florence shakes her head as she brushes her teeth. Faintly, she hears Isa humming “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. 

“Why are you humming?” Florence asks.   


“You sing it four times and that’s two minutes!” Isa says as if it was the most genius thing she had ever come up with.   


Then Florence is fully laughing, the toothpaste going all down her chin as she quickly spits it out in the sink. “You can’t just guess when it’s been around two minutes?”

“I have my methods, okay?” Isa says as she continues humming. Florence just cackles as she runs a brush through her hair and waits for Isa to finish. 

Once they slip under the covers, Isa is sure to give Florence enough space to sleep comfortably, knowing that another person in the bed probably wouldn’t help her recent bout of insomnia.

Florence isn’t having it though.    


“Don’t be such a stranger,” she says, opening up her arms. Isa sweetly smiles and obliges, tucking her head onto Florence’s shoulder. 

“It’s just like the old days,” Isa laughs, thinking back to when they were on a budget and she, Florence, Rob, Chris, and Tom would all share one hotel room—two to a bed and one person on a pull out couch. 

That, along with the times one of them would meekly knock on the other’s door, unable to sleep in unfamiliar cities time and time again over the past decade.

Florence smiles. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too,” Isa says quietly. “When do you leave?”

“Early Sunday morning,” Florence sighs. “I  _ completely _ forgot this was even happening.”   


“Grace and J going?”

Florence nods. “Yep,” she says with a pop. “Along with their significant others.”   


Isa groans. “I’m sorry Flo.”    


“It’s okay,” Florence says as that sinking feeling in her chest returns. “Do you have plans?”   


Isa sighs. “Not really, no. I think my brother might stop by at some point. I’m not really sure.”   


Florence grimaces. “Sounds like we’re both in for a fun week.”

They sit in silence for awhile. Florence gently strokes Isa’s hair while she tries to calm her thumping heart and quiet the anxious feeling floating around her body that seems to never quite leave lately.    


“Isa,” she says suddenly.    


“Hmm,” Isa says, already halfway asleep. 

“Would you want to come with?”   


“To Galveston?” she asks in confusion. 

“Yeah.”   


Isa sits up and turns on the lamp next to the bed on. “Are you being serious?”   
Florence nods. “The room I’m always in has a queen bed. And Grace just found a pretty much empty flight. Come with us.”

Isa scoffs. “You want me to just crash your family holiday?”   


Florence rolls her eyes. “ _ No _ , you wouldn’t be crashing. I mean I’ve taken boyfriends before, why not you? And besides, my mother  _ loves _ you. You won’t be lonely, I won’t be reminded of how I’m going to die alone, and maybe we can make out at midnight on New Year’s for the fun of it.”   


Isa laughs, but Florence can tell she isn’t really going for it.   


“ _ Please _ Iz. It would be good for both of us.”

Isa closes her eyes, shakes her head, and smiles. “ _ Fine _ . But only if you spoon me every night.”   


Florence laughs. “That can be accommodated.”

—

Sunday morning Isa is in front of Florence’s house at the ungodly hour of 4:30. 

“Morning,” Florence says, raspily drawing out each syllable. It is pitch black out, and the air is dry and cold. It had taken everything she had in her to get out of bed, put her hair up, pack the last of her things and drag her suitcase to the front door. The promise of a two week trip with her best friend without work to be done was the only thing that got her moving if she was being honest.

“Good morning princess,” Isa laughs, taking in the sight of Florence in a hoodie and joggers. “No Gucci today?”   


Florence laughs and shakes her head. “This isn’t a business trip, so no.”

“Good, glad I didn’t dress to impress then,” Isa says, dragging Florence’s uncharacteristically small suitcase to her car. 

Florence takes her duffel and backpack outside before locking her door behind her and running to Isa’s car. The car is warm, and there is a fresh coffee already waiting for her in the cupholder when she gets inside. 

“Ugh, you’re the best,” Florence says as she settles into the passenger seat and sips on the hot drink. 

Isa smiles and turns on the radio to Christmas music, knowing that the cheery music would annoy her this early in the morning. Florence groans.    


“Come on, we’re practicing being merry! Sing along!”   


Begrudgingly, Florence sings the song purposefully out of tune, which has Isa laughing so hard she has to tell her to stop so she can focus on the road ahead. 

“ _ Why _ are you like this,” Isa laughs.

“Like what? I just serenaded you with my ‘voice of an angel.’ You should feel blessed.”

When they get to the airport they park and Isa begins unloading their various bags. 

“You coming?” she asks after a minute, standing with the small pile of luggage outside her car. 

Florence nods. “Is it bad that I kind of forgot we have to go through the terminal?”   


Isa chuckles. “We’ve gotten spoiled.”   


Florence laughs, but her anxiety begins to bubble as she recalls all the nervy encounters she’s had in various airports. 

As if she can sense the anxiousness, Isa opens the passenger door herself and crouches down to Florence’s level. “You’re in a Nike tracksuit and trainers at five in the morning, three days before Christmas. At best, someone might think that you kind of look like that ginger who sang on that Calvin Harris track. Quit being full of yourself and let’s go,” Isa says half jokingly. Some of those encounters had scared her just as much as they scared Florence, but she also knows the chance of one happening this morning was zero-to-none.

Florence feigns insult but finally gets out of the car, grabbing her bags and following Isa through the parking garage and into the airport.

Miraculously, Isa was right. The only reminder that she was known was a security agent giving her a strange, knowing look, but other than that, she was able to navigate the terminal without incident. 

“Isa!” Bonnie squeals once they reach their gate. She runs over to her excitedly, clearly more awake than anyone else is at the moment.

“Hi, lovey! You got so big,” Isa says, dropping her bag to pick the toddler up. She hadn’t seen Bonnie since her birthday party back in August, and she always enjoyed spending time with Grace’s mini-me.

“Are you just going to forget about me?” Florence asks from behind Isa. Bonnie giggles, hiding her face behind Isa’s shoulder before Florence steals her out of Isa’s arms.

“Good mornnning,” Florence says, spinning her niece around as she shrieks with laughter. Isa chuckles at them before taking Florence’s bag in her other hand and walking to where Florence’s family is sat in the nearly empty gate. 

“Isa,” Evelyn says with a smile before rising from her seat. “I’m so glad you’re joining us honey.” Isa gives her a hug, thankful that Florence’s strict and serious mother had taken such a liking to her years ago. 

“Thanks for letting me join,” Isa replies. “I’m excited, I’ve never been to Galveston.”   


“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Evelyn says before launching into many stories about her childhood days on the coast. JJ and Grace look at Isa sympathetically as their mother tells stories they’ve heard hundreds of times, but Isa listens intently, glad to have company at all.

The plane ride is long, but Florence spends most of it asleep on Isa’s shoulder. It feels a bit surreal to Isa that she is joining the Welch clan on their Christmas trip, but she is absolutely relieved that she wouldn’t have to spend the next two weeks in isolation. She watches Grace play games with Bonnie, and JJ lovingly hold his girlfriend’s hand, and wonders where the time went. When she had first met the Welch siblings, JJ was only twelve and Grace was sixteen. Now it seemed they were both real adults while she and Florence were still just trying to figure out how to live on their own. 

When they finally land in Texas, it is only 11 in the morning. Isa blinks at the blindingly bright sun as their car leaves the garage, and Florence squeezes her eyes closed tighter as she continues to lean against Isa. Even with all their years of traveling, they both still somehow struggle to deal with time changes. 

When they arrive, Isa is shocked by how massive the house is. She knew that Florence’s mother’s family had money, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer size of the victorian house on the shore. 

The inside is filled with ornate wood and various pieces of art hung on every wall. Isa feels as if she might have just walked into a different era as she drags her luggage towards a huge staircase.

They are greeted by Evelyn’s brother and his family, who have already settled in after being there for a day.    


“Hi,” Florence says, hugging her uncle who Isa recognized from a stop on tour a few months back. “This is Isa, she’s joining us this year.”   


“Hi,” he says kindly. It is uncanny how much he looks like Evelyn, Isa thinks. “Welcome to Texas!” It catches Isa off guard that he has such a strong American accent, but she graciously accepts his hand before going around and meeting Florence’s various cousins. 

After awhile of greetings, they take their bags and head up two flights of stairs to one of the various guest rooms that Florence had always claimed ever since she was a kid.

“I’m ready to go back to sleep,” Florence says as soon as she enters the room she and Isa will share for the next two weeks. It is beautifully decorated, with two large windows overlooking the sea. A bed with a big, fluffy duvet and lots of throw pillow sits at the center, and there is plush carpet leading to an ensuite bathroom. Out of the window, Isa can see a gloomy sky hanging above the sea—it reminds her so much of where she grew up in Aldeburgh.

Isa laughs at Florence as she flops down onto the bed. “Your mother promised the most delicious coffee in the world, and it seems like we could both use it. Get up, let’s go!” she says, taking Florence by the hand.

“Come on, we can just nap,” Florence whines. 

“You can nap, I’m going for coffee,” Isa says with a finality as she heads to the door. 

With a groan, Florence gets up and follows, willing to go anywhere if it means she’ll be at Isa’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! This will be a little four-part mini-fic, and I'll get a chapter up every day up until New Year's. I will also try and get a chapter of "Under" posted soon, I'm very much at a crossroads of how the plot will go and I'm being indecisive—sorry! Hopefully this will hold you over in the meantime :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! x


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w: suicide attempt, sex
> 
> (this is my first ever nsfw scene, please be kind *cringes*)

The next two days are a blur of trips to places Evelyn went to growing up, and stops in delicious restaurants, and card games, and sneakily buying gifts in vintage shops they walk to. Florence enjoys catching up with her cousins and their young kids, and Isa is thankful that everyone seems to take a real interest in her and the projects she is working on, even if they are only trying to be nice. She feels oddly at home as Grace and JJ crack jokes while Bonnie sits on her lap with Florence by her side. There is a huge Christmas tree in one corner of the main area, and an ornate menorah on the fireplace mantle, and the house smells of vanilla, pine, and coffee, and Isa feels like she is getting the family holiday experience she had never had growing up. 

When Isa spends time wandering around the house the first night they are there, it seems like with every corner she turns she finds a new picture of baby Florence, which she sneakily takes pictures of to use as blackmail in the future. She treasures the quiet moments with Florence in between exploring the house, content to sit in silence as they read, or eat, or in those still moments right before they fall asleep.

Though Isa seems to be having a good time, Galveston brings up so many recent memories of despair it is almost painful for Florence. The big, old house and the gloomy sea conjure up a deep sadness that must have been passed down through the generations.

The Summer she wrote ‘The End of Love’ was one of the lowest points of her life. Another relationship had ended, and Florence found herself questioning her ability to love, her ability to _be_ loved—

...and whether she should come forward about a ten-year-long crush that had evolved into a sort of internal monster gnawing at her heart. 

Being friends with Isa was weird—it was like they had been in some sort of perpetual, wordless relationship for years, which made forming that kind of bond with anyone else difficult for Florence to say the least. They had shared clothes and food, buses and beds, secrets and fears, and too many drunken kisses to count. If it weren’t for the fact they had gone on for years without so much of a mention of the fact they acted like a couple, Florence would have taken everything Isa did and said as outright flirting.

But that was just the way they were. They were a packaged deal, and eventually Florence realized that it didn’t really mean anything that they lived in perfect parallel. Isa happily got with boyfriends over the years with none of the same struggles as Florence. Whereas Isa’s relationships usually ended with “oh, we’re both too busy,” or “we mutually realized we just don’t work together,” Florence’s ended with “I showed up drunk at his door begging him to love me and he forced me to leave,” or “he ghosted me because I’ll never love him as much as I love music.”

So through the years Florence brushed her feelings off because she knew that they meant nothing, that Isa would probably just laugh if she ever even mentioned it.

And all of this was besides the point that Florence had to gradually come out to herself.

It had taken Florence a long time to realize that she liked Isa as more than a friend. Though she had essentially grown up in the Joiner’s Arms, the biggest gay club in Camberwell, she struggled to identify herself as anything but straight. For the longest time, she pushed off her infatuation with Isa as a one-off thing that would never really happen, and thus she justified not having to deal with her confusing feelings head-on; but accepting the fact she wanted Isa also meant accepting the fact she liked girls, and so she did, however difficult it was. 

It was painful though. Going through a breakup, accepting the fact she was in love with her best friend, and desperately trying to accept herself took quite a toll on her when she was stuck in New York trying to write that Summer just three years ago. Feelings of helplessness absolutely overwhelmed her, and it felt as if she would never be okay again.

And that was how she ended up on the balcony of her hotel room, anxiously gripping the metal railing behind her, her heels just barely on the concrete on a particularly bad day. It was raining, and the city was quiet, which meant her brain had the capacity to be quite loud. It wasn't really a conscious decision as much as it was her body and brain completely betraying her as she cried on that balcony while the rain poured down. 

She doesn’t like thinking about what she did next. Her therapist later explained to her that the brain sometimes basically blacks out memories of severe trauma as a protective mechanism, and she was eternally grateful that she barely remembered a thing other than the feeling of the iron railing digging into her palms. 

Miraculously, she was okay. There was a good samaritan who had not a clue who she was and asked about a thousand times if she was okay before hesitantly leaving her with his phone number and a long list of numbers for hospitals and mental health resources in the area. 

That same day, she decided to fly out to Galveston, desperate to feel any sort of home while away in America. She spent the week by herself in the house, trying to understand why she felt the way she did. 

Desperately, she tried to piece together how her family, Isa, and another failed relationship were all contributing to some unconscious desire to move on from human existence. 

The first night alone in that big house, she had a dream she was walking down the block of her hotel in New York. The streets were empty, and a thick fog covered the city, skyscrapers reaching into the low-set clouds above her.

She walked, and walked, and walked, every street looking the same until she turned a corner and was met with a giant, white billboard set against the grey skyline. 

_THIS IS THE END OF LOVE_ it read. 

In her dream, she immediately sat down on the wet street below her. She was well aware by that point that she was in a dream, but she was stuck in that place where she couldn’t go back to being a passive viewer, but she couldn’t wake up either. 

Instead, she just started crying, thinking of how perfectly those words described her current state.

She thought about what a great lyric it would make, or even a title of an album. She couldn’t decide if the words on the billboard were a good or bad omen, or whether this was supposed to be a sign from some higher being. 

Upon finally waking up, she immediately grabbed her journal and wrote out the words on that billboard in big, block letters. 

That was how the song started, and hour by hour, day by day, more was added to it. She felt a weird presence of her ancestors that day, many of them living their entire lives in the coastal town that she found herself in.

After a week, she continued westward, flying out to L.A. to do more recording. Though she had made it out of that incident in New York with only a sprained wrist and a pretty good bruise on her left hip, the shame that had come with it stayed with her until a few months later she finally said _fuck it_ and put it in the song that she wrote while looking out at the Galveston sea.

The first time Isa listened to that song nearly a year and a half later, she felt sick. She was visiting Florence for a weekend, and Florence had haphazardly thrown Isa a small, vintage iPod and some headphones before leaving to take a long shower. Florence tried to act casual about the new album she had written and produced entirely without Isa, but the truth was she couldn’t bear to be with her the first time she heard the album; so many of the songs were about her, and she didn't want to have to see if Isa realized. _For fucks sake, the opening song is a love letter to her_ she had thought to herself.

Isa didn't immediately recognize any of the references to her until she reached the penultimate song.

The nearly minute long opening of strings made Isa feel anxious, and when Florence's voice finally appeared, Isa hung on to her every word.

Florence had told Isa about New York a few months back, so while that one lyric in the second verse hurt to listen to, it wasn’t a total surprise. 

What _was_ a total surprise was the next lyric. 

_“I’ve always been in love with you, could you tell it from the moment that I met you?”_

Isa knew nearly everything there was to know about Florence, and there was not a single person she could think of that lyric being about.

Other than herself. 

The moment she heard it, old feelings came rushing back. Hard. 

After that first listen, Isa had spent the past two years fighting a constant battle to try and stop the old, confusing feelings from surfacing. While she was ninety percent certain that lyric was about her, some deep sense of insecurity always kept her from believing it, or even asking about it. Florence had never said anything about their relationship, and Isa was too protective of their strong bond to risk losing it over some weird feelings. 

And so, she, along with the rest of the world, simply let that entire song just _be_.

—

On Christmas Eve, Florence decides to show Isa around the parts of downtown Galveston that Evelyn hadn’t already given a full tour of. “This is where one of my great-great… _great_ grandfather’s lived,” Florence says at some point, pausing in front of a very old house with a little historical plaque in front of it. “It’s ‘The End of Love’ house.”

“Mm,” Isa says, studying the tall posts the house is held up on. The house is dilapidated, and the trees around it are overgrown, but it amazed Isa to see that every part of it looks to be the original building. “Explain how that all worked again?”

“It floods a lot here, and he was a shipman and with the ships, they would take out all the floorboards so that during a storm, the water could rush in without destroying the ship. So when Galveston flooded, he supposedly took out the floorboards of the house in the same manner so that the house would stay in-tact.”

Isa nods. “And you decided to use that as an analogy for love?” Isa asks somewhat knowingly, her wavy hair floating in the wind.

Florence bites her lip, not quite wanting Isa to fully understand the meaning behind that song. “Yeah. Kind of take yourself apart so love doesn’t destroy you,” she says with a shrug as she turns away from the house and continues to walk. “Want to go get coffee at that place again?”

The weather is that perfect in-between where it isn’t hot or cold, and just a tad bit humid, but it is a welcome change from the cold, dry air of London. 

At the coffee shop, Isa orders two lattes while Florence sits in a little booth in the corner of the café. She watches rain begin to pour outside just as Isa returns with the two hot cups, carefully placing them down before sliding into the seat opposite Florence.

“You okay?” she asks, reaching a hand across the table. 

“Yep, just a little sleepy still,” she says with a small smile as she picks up the cup.

Her mother was right, the coffee is delicious and she feels a bit of peace settle over her as she sits in silence with Isa. She watches families walk down the busy downtown street, and then stares at the huge christmas lights that always seem to be ubiquitous in America hanging from every lamppost. 

“Flo?” Isa asks, breaking her from her trance. “You in there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just still—”

“Tired, I know,” Isa says with a sigh. “What’s wrong? You’re being weird.”

Florence shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’ve just never been a big fan of christmas,” she laughs, trying her best to cover up the darkness starting to overtake her.

“But _I’m_ here. It’s going to be fun,” Isa says with a pleading smile. “I haven’t been around for a christmas with little kids in ages, I’m kind of excited,” she says. 

Florence smiles. “Yeah, I guess that will be pretty fun.”

“What do you all normally do for christmas here?”

“Ehm, I guess we usually start with breakfast, and then we do presents. Church is at nine—I’ve unsuccessfully tried to convince my mum to skip since we’re not _technically_ Catholic, or religious at all really, since I was about sixteen and she has yet to give in,” Florence laughs. “Then some people cook and some people keep kids entertained, and then we do a big lunch-slash-dinner and then do dessert a little later.”

Isa smiles. “Sounds perfect.”

—

That night, after a few hours of playing with all the younger kids, Isa and Florence help organize the many presents under the tree before retiring up to the third floor to sleep.

“Do you think Santa’s going to know we’re not in London?” Isa asks deadpan.

Florence laughs and shakes her head. “Why are _you_ like this?”

Isa shrugs. “Just trying to keep it light,” she says as Florence traces circles into her arm from her spot behind her. “You seem out of it,” she adds quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem… sad? And kind of in a daze,” Isa says honestly.

Florence feels tears burn on the back of her eyes, and she bites her lip, annoyed at how easily Isa is able to read her. 

“Just a lot of memories here, that’s all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Florence whispers.

“Okay,” Isa says, breaking out of Florence’s arms in order to face her. “You know I love you, right?”

Florence smiles, the irony of being in the very room that she wrote that lyric about Isa not lost on her.

“I know. I love you too.”

In the morning, Florence and Isa come downstairs to find an entire feast of breakfast foods prepared, which they happily partake in. After awhile of the children politely hinting that it is time to open presents, everyone moves into the main part of the downstairs, all finding seats on the various couches and ottomans. Florence and Isa squeeze onto a chair together as the kids open their presents. Florence’s heart melts when Bonnie opens a little one-octave keyboard from Isa, who was always so thoughtful towards her younger siblings and now, their children.

JJ gives his girlfriend a nice necklace, which makes Florence realize just how old he was getting. She had enjoyed getting to know the girl, who had graduated from the same art college she went to for awhile. 

“Oh, we’re gonna have fun later,” Isa says with a smile as more and more instruments are unwrapped by the kids. Florence laughs, always a little shy to sing in front of family.

From her mother, Florence receives a vintage sacred heart necklace. Isa is gifted a beautiful set of earrings from Evelyn, which she profusely thanks her for, as well as a nice makeup bag from Grace. From Florence she receives a dress she had been eyeing in a vintage shop the day before, before turning around and gifting her a dainty bracelet that she had found in one of the shops Evelyn showed them.

After all the presents are opened, they all get dressed and walk a few blocks to a huge, victorian-style church. Isa feels wildly out-of-place as they begin singing in Latin, but does her best to just follow what everyone else is doing. Somehow, Florence still remembers all of the Latin prayers from her time in Catholic school growing up, and it takes everything she has in her not to laugh as she shows off, reciting every last word from a religion she doesn’t believe in. 

Throughout the day, Isa notices Florence staring off into space at various points before a family member asks for help with food, or a kid comes up to her wanting to play. It seems like every time she looks over at Florence, she’s doing her nervous habit of moving her fringe out of her eyes, only to ruffle it back to where it started again. 

At dinner, she excuses herself only before disappearing for twenty minutes. Isa does her best not to follow, wanting to give Florence some space if that was what she needed to get through the day.

Later that night, everyone sits around, some of the adults playing on the child-sized guitars that had been gifted. Everyone sings along happily, except for Florence, who sits studying the patterns of the wooden floor.

“Care to join, Flo?” her uncle asks as more of an invitation than a question after a while. She halfheartedly sings along to the songs after a bit of encouragement, Isa holding her hand tight the whole time. 

After the kids go to bed, the adults stay downstairs to enjoy some drinks and exchange stories about the old days. 

Florence politely declines and Isa follows suit, happy to just listen to their ramblings. 

At some point when Florence gets up to go to the bathroom, Grace pulls Isa aside. 

“Is Flo okay?”

Isa bites her cheek and shrugs. “I have no idea. She’s telling me that she's fine, that being here is just a lot. I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

Grace shakes her head. “She’s being weird. Like, _weirder than normal_. I’ll try to talk to her tomorrow.” 

Isa nods. “I think that would be good.”  
  


Awhile later, just as Isa becomes entranced by a story Evelyn and her brother are telling about Studio 54 that Florence has heard no less than one-hundred times, Florence taps Isa’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to head upstairs, don’t be too long.”

"I'll come with," Isa says immediately, not wanting to leave Florence alone with her thoughts.

With an apologetic smile, Isa excuses herself, following Florence up the stairs. 

Florence gets ready for bed in silence. She is unusually quiet, and Isa can’t help but feel as if something is majorly off as Florence slips under the covers and stares at the ceiling above her. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Isa asks as that awful sinking feeling returns to Florence’s heart and lungs. 

“Yeah,” Florence replies, her voice cracking as she ever so slightly begins to cry. 

Not wanting to make matters worse, Isa doesn’t push the subject. She resigns to being the big spoon for the night, tightly holding Florence while running her fingers across her arm. "Shh," she says gently over and over, softly tracing patterns into her skin.

Eventually, with a few tears running down her face, Florence falls asleep. Isa watches her breathe, and can’t help but wonder what she is so upset about. She knew Florence really didn't like the holidays, she was never aware of the depths of it though.

A few hours later, Florence wakes up in a sweat. It had been another nightmare where she couldn’t breathe or run or do anything. That awful anxious, sad feeling is surrounding her like a cloud as she turns to make sure Isa is still beside her. She is, and she gently touches her head before turning back around. She tries her best to meditate, breathing in and out with the sounds of the shore outside her window, but eventually, the feeling overwhelms her. With no other ideas of how to quiet her head, she puts on her raincoat before quietly slipping out of the room and tiptoeing down the stairs. The house is eerily quiet and dark, and she struggles to decipher which pair of rain boots are hers before pulling them over her feet and carefully opening up the front door. 

It is a short walk around the house to the shore, and she feels her head spinning as she stumbles towards the water. She finds a little path of sand leading to the beach through the tall grass, and follows it until she is standing right at the water’s edge.

The cold rain makes her skin sting, and she finally feels like she can breathe as she watches the water hit her boots and then rush back out. The sound of the waves encompasses her, and her small cries get lost in the wind. 

She thinks about all the times as a kid when she would lie in bed after Christmas day and imagine how Christmas would be when she had a family of her own. How her kids would have both their parents with them, how they would have little traditions and make breakfast for dinner before watching movies until their eyes couldn’t stay open. She thinks about all of her plans of growing old, and watching her kids go off to school, and how ten years ago she might have figured she’d have at least a few kids already by thirty-three. She lets the cold rain hit her as she cries about all she sacrificed in the name of music. 

Eventually she backs away from the shoreline and sits down, running her fingers through the sand as she tries to calm her throbbing head. She is exhausted from the long day and the insomnia, and she wants nothing more than to quietly curl up and fall asleep with the rain pouring down on her while the ocean sways beside her.

After a while of sitting alone with the water, she is suddenly aware of the presence of another being. 

“You okay?” she hears Isa softly ask as she walks towards her. Isa is wearing one of her other rain coats that was far too big on her over her silk pyjamas. Without thought, she plops down in the wet sand next to Florence. She leans over and hugs her as Florence begins crying again. 

"Tell me what's going on Flo. You can tell me anything. I hate to see you so upset like this."

Florence just shakes her head and continues to cry, not quite ready to offer up her thoughts. 

They sit in silence for awhile, watching the waves crash into the shore as Isa holds Florence tight. Isa tries to think through every possible scenario but eventually stops, realizing that there was just no way of every knowing with Florence.

Eventually, Florence shakily inhales and breaks the silence. “I never imagined I’d be thirty-three years old and still have absolutely no knowledge of how to function as an adult," she says as she begins sobbing again.

Isa holds her closer, perfectly content to sit in the rain if that’s what Florence needed her to do. “Shh,” Isa coos. “You’re okay,” she says as Florence’s breath hitches in her chest.

“It’s just like, what is wrong with me?” Florence continues. “I have all this anxiety about life passing me by, and no motivation to do anything about it. I’ve accomplished just about every wild thing I wanted to accomplish, but the stuff that’s supposed to just _happen_?” She pauses and scoffs through her tears. “It’s like I don’t know how to be human.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Isa says. “I’m right there with you.”

Florence shakes her head a little bit, thinking of how much better Isa was at forming relationships than she is. “You’re not afraid of loving people Isa. I am. I’m _terrified_ of love. You know _how_ to love.” 

Isa gently shakes her head. “ _That’s not true_ ,” she whispers so softly that Florence is just barely able to hear it over the sound of crashing waves and thunder. Isa shakily inhales, unsure if she is ready to go where this conversation is leading them. 

“What do you _mean_ , ‘that’s not true’?” Florence asks. “You love people more than anyone I’ve ever met Isa. You’ve had healthy, long-term relationships. You show love to even the most unlovable people. I don’t understand what you—”

“Can I tell you something, honest?” Isa says, cutting off her ramblings.

Florence ever so slightly nods her head.

Before she has a chance to second-guess herself, Isa begins speaking. “I’m afraid of loving _you_ , Flo,” she spits out with a terrified look on her face. Above them, lightning lights up the sky and thunder booms, and the rain starts coming down even harder. 

Florence feels her heart skip a beat as she tries to decipher what Isa meant. Isa’s eyes are wide and she bites her lip as she studies Florence’s sad face. Eventually when she is left without a reply, Isa diverts her eyes to the sand below her. 

“I don’t understand Isa. Of course you love me. You tell me that every chance you get,” Florence says, not wanting to be presumptuous. If Isa was trying to say what Florence _thinks_ she was trying to say, then she wants her to be clear about it. She had spent enough time guessing already.

Isa looks to the sky as if it might give her answers as tears begin to trail down her face. “Florence,” she says delicately with reverence as her voice cracks. “I’m _in_ love _with_ you. I have been for a long time. I was never brave enough to tell you.” She pauses, not sure if she is ready to burst the delicate bubble surrounding the song that had haunted her from the moment she first heard it; but again, she begins talking before she has time to overthink it. “ _I’ve_ always been in love with you, and I’m shocked that _you_ didn’t know it from the moment that I met you."

Suddenly, Florence understands exactly what she’s saying, and is absolutely _terrified_ to know Isa actually knows what that lyric means.

Florence’s face scrunches up in sadness and then Isa begins crying too, instantly regretting letting those words leave her mouth. Knowing that her hunch about that song was indeed correct is almost too much to bear.

“You know what, forget I said anything,” Isa says as she stands up to leave. She extends a hand down to Florence. “I’m sorry I even said that. Let’s go back, we’re both exhausted.” 

Florence accepts her hand and Isa helps pull her up to her feet. Isa starts walking, but abruptly stops once she realizes Florence isn’t by her side. 

She turns around and sees Florence standing in the sand, the pale moonlight reflecting off her soaking-wet hair. She seems calmer and Isa is confused as to why she’s still standing there in her pyjamas and knee-high wellies. 

“Come on,” Isa says shakily. “I’m freezing.”

“Did you mean it, Isa?”

Isa feels her breath catch in her chest. This is it. This is her chance to get out, to take it all back.

One look at Florence’s dejected face though, and she meekly nods in reply. 

She watches as Florence bites her lip, close her eyes, hang her head and resume crying while the rain washes over her. 

“Flo, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Isa says apologetically as she moves back toward her.

Florence shakes her head as Isa puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“You didn’t,” Florence replies back. Slowly, she looks up from the ground and meets Isa’s tear-filled, grey eyes. Without much thought, she puts her hands on either side of Isa’s face and slowly leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to Isa’s lips before hesitantly taking Isa’s bottom lip between hers. Isa reciprocates, sliding her lips past Florence’s again and again, pausing only to breathe as the rain continues to pour down. 

Eventually Florence’s tongue gently glides across Isa’s bottom lip, and Isa opens her mouth wider, delicately touching her tongue to Florence’s. 

Florence responds with a quiet hum, and Isa wraps her hand around the base of her neck as their mouths settle into a rhythm, softly crashing together as the sky erratically lights up above them. 

Eventually Florence pulls away and reaches for Isa’s hand, looking her in the eye with something Isa had never seen from her before: _lust_. They walk back into the house, ditching their boots and coats at the door before wordlessly walking up the two flights of stairs. Once they reach the bedroom, Florence shuts the door and immediately pushes Isa against it, turning the lock on the knob as she quickly resumes the kiss. “Quiet,” she whispers as she tugs at the hem of Isa’s wet silk pyjama shirt. Even though they are alone on the third floor, Florence is well aware that her entire family is just steps away.

Isa obliges, lifting her arms so Florence can quickly pull the shirt over her head. Isa does the same to the t-shirt Florence is wearing, and then they both feel much warmer as they press their bare skin together and reunite their lips. Florence softly kisses along Isa’s jaw, then her neck, and then her collar bone before coming back up to feel Isa’s lips press against hers again. She puts her hands on Isa’s hips, and then turns her around, walking until the backs of Isa’s legs hit the bed. 

Florence carefully helps Isa lie down before propping herself up on an elbow and continuing to kiss her. Eventually, her hand travels from Isa’s stomach up to her breast, softly cupping it as she presses kisses to Isa’s jaw.

“Is this okay?” Florence whispers as her lips move to Isa’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Isa manages to breathe out. She can’t comprehend what is happening, but she is oddly at peace with the feeling of Florence’s lips moving across her skin. “Flo, have you ever…?”

“Nope,” Florence whispers back as she gently sucks on the skin beneath Isa’s collar bone. “Have you?”

Isa shakes her head, nervously looking down at Florence. 

Florence looks back reassuringly before gently moving Isa’s wet hair away from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure it out then.”

Florence runs her hand over Isa’s breasts as she lies on her side next to her. She kisses Isa’s shoulder, then trails her fingers over Isa’s stomach and eventually, under the waistband of her shorts. Florence runs her other hand through Isa’s hair, gently cradling her head as Isa begins to quietly moan from the sensation of Florence’s fingers tracing soft circles into her. 

Florence begins to worry as Isa arches beneath her touch—this all seemed so sudden, and it had been literal _years_ since she had been intimate with anyone, let alone her best friend. 

The feelings of anxiety don’t last long though once Isa turns to kiss Florence. “ _Fuck_ ,” she whispers between kisses at one point as Florence begins applying more pressure. Minutes pass, and eventually, Florence feels Isa’s muscles pulsing beneath her fingertips as she moans into her mouth. 

Florence pulls her hand out from Isa’s shorts, and it is almost a shock to see her fingers covered in Isa’s wetness, a sort of proof of what had just happened. Isa kisses her hard before pulling back and looking her in the eyes. They are the same pale green they’ve always been, and Isa is suddenly overwhelmed that this is really happening.

Wordlessly, Isa sits up and pushes Florence into the bed. She moves a pillow beneath Florence’s head as she resumes kissing her, her lips salty from tears and seawater.

Isa kneels over Florence, a leg on either side of her torso as she moves her lips down Florence’s neck, and then across her collar bones, and then in the hollow space between her breasts. Florence makes little sounds as Isa moves her hand to one breast before gently sucking on the nipple of the other. 

Isa comes back up to kiss Florence again, swiping her tongue against hers before kissing her way back down Florence’s torso all the way to her flannel shorts. 

“Is it okay if I…?” Isa asks, hooking a finger around the waistband. 

She looks back up, and Florence nods as she bites her lip with her eyes closed. Isa presses one last kiss right below her navel before pulling her shorts and pants over her legs. She delicately kisses up and down Florence’s thighs before putting her lips exactly where Florence wants them the most. 

“ _Isa_ ,” Florence draws out slowly as Isa’s tongue glides over sensitive nerve endings. Instinctively, she grabs Isa’s hand that is resting on her stomach, lacing her fingers between hers. Isa runs her thumb comfortingly over the back of Florence’s hand as she continues to work. Florence feels pleasure building all throughout her body, radiating all the way from her feet to her chest; she wonders if this is what sex was _always_ supposed to feel like.

As she listen to Florence softly moan, Isa has a passing thought of how natural this feels, of how easy it is to make Florence hum with contentment. She softly runs the nails of her free hand up and down Florence’s thigh and Florence squeezes her hand as her entire body begins to tense up. 

“ _Like that_ ,” Florence whispers. “ _Don’t stop_.”

Isa does as she’s told and within seconds, Florence comes. 

She breathes heavily, slowly coming down from her high as Isa presses one last kiss into her before crawling back up to kiss her on the lips. 

It is odd, tasting herself on Isa’s lips and tongue, but it feels right and so intimate that Florence could cry. Isa’s hand is still laced in her own, and Florence wraps her free hand around Isa's jaw as she slowly kisses her.

Neither of them know what to say; what are you supposed to say to your best friend after reaching the final level of intimacy? What are you supposed to say when there is nothing left unspoken?

They lie in the silence of the room, feeling each other's beating hearts through their skin. Isa again finds herself comfortingly running her fingers through Florence’s long, soft hair while trying to sort through her thoughts. 

“I hope you know I absolutely meant what I said,” Isa says quietly after a short while. Florence is still mindlessly tracing over Isa's fingers, clearly not ready to fall asleep.

Florence nods. “I know,” she whispers, putting her lips on the back of Isa’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

Isa bites her lip. “Confused? Relieved? I—I don’t know.”

Florence nods. “Me too.”

They both have so many questions, and no idea where to start. It is almost as if they have a silent agreement that everything they want to know can wait for a different time. 

“Flo?” Isa whispers just as Florence starts drifting off to sleep. 

“Mm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Florence says, turning to place one last, soft kiss onto Isa's lips before falling asleep in her arms. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp... that happened. 
> 
> comments are appreciated :) x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w: mention of Orlando shooting (in the context of how "June" was written)

The next morning, they wake with a start. 

“Open up, it’s breakfast time!” Grace chimes from outside the door. Isa’s eyes go wide as she looks to Florence. They hear the door frame shake in its place, and Florence thanks _god_ that she thought to lock it the night before. 

“We’ll be down in a bit, don’t wait for us!” Florence shouts from the bed. 

“Why the hell is this locked?” Grace asks from outside.

“To avoid people like you barging in at seven in the morning,” Florence quips back effortlessly.

“I’m eating your pancakes,” Grace says before trotting back down the stairs. Florence leans her head back and exhales, closing her eyes before putting her hands over them. 

They lie in silence for a moment. Their hair is still a bit damp from the rain a few hours before, serving as a reminder that last night was in fact _real_.

“Flo?” Isa asks in a shaky whisper eventually. “Are we okay?”

All it takes is one look into Isa’s eyes for Florence to understand exactly how she is feeling.

“We’re okay,” she replies affirmingly, leaning into lightly kiss Isa’s lips before rolling out of bed and leaving Isa to shower. 

After a few minutes of listening to water hitting tiles, Isa gets out of bed, quickly throwing on joggers and a sweatshirt before making her way downstairs for breakfast.

“Nice of you to join us,” Grace says with a laugh. “Late night?”

Isa briefly panics before remembering that last nights events were, in reality, _early morning_ events and that Grace was probably asleep through the whole thing. 

“Just tired,” Isa says plainly in reply, taking some fruit from a bowl and a couple of pancakes still steaming on a plate. 

Isa sits between Grace and Bonnie, listening to Bonnie’s mumblings about her favorite Christmas presents and how she is going to stay awake until midnight on New Year’s. Isa happily nods along, stopping only to help Bonnie cut up her food in between the stories. 

Eventually, Florence appears at the table, wrapping her long arms around Grace. She is dressed for the day in plain jeans and a striped blouse, but her hair isn’t done.

“Hey, did you take my flat iron?” she asks Grace.

“Mm,” Grace says, putting down her coffee. “I grabbed it last night to fix my hair and completely forgot to put it back, sorry,” she says, getting up to retrieve it. 

Florence follows closely behind, annoyed that her sister was still taking her stuff when they were both full-on, grown adults.

When they reach Grace's room however, Grace quickly shuts and locks the door before sitting on the neatly made bed. 

“Sit,” she says in neither a mean nor kind way. Florence groans, knowing exactly what is coming. 

“Grace, I don’t feel like doing this.”

“The iron is under your sink, by the way. I moved it yesterday afternoon knowing you’d immediately come to me when you saw it missing this morning.”

Florence rolls her eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“What?” Florence says, doing her best to act casually.

“You looked like you’d been crying all of yesterday, you skipped most of dinner, and then you went to bed at nine. _What_ is it?”

“ _Grace_ ,” Florence whines as tears fill the corners of her eyes. She lies back on the bed dramatically and covers her face with her hands. "I really don't want to do this right now."

“Flo,” Grace says, softening up once she realizes Florence is beginning to cry. “I’m worried about you. Isa’s worried about you. _Mum_ is fucking worried about you. Whatever it is, please just tell me?”

Florence inhales deeply, finally surrendering to the fact her sister knows her too well to hide anything from her. 

“Before I try to explain why I was being weird yesterday, can I tell you something else?”

Grace nods before lying down right next to Florence. They both fix their eyes on the ceiling, as if avoiding looking at each other might lessen the awkwardness of being honest with their feelings. 

“You can tell me anything Flo,” she adds, grabbing Florence’s hand.

Florence bites her lip, and she has that same feeling of the moment before you hit a huge drop on a rollercoaster. 

“I had sex with Isa last night,” she says so fast Grace has to take a moment to process if she heard her correctly. 

“You _what_?” She asks incredulously, all sense of calm thrown out the window. 

Florence groans, moving her hands back up to cover her face.

“Florence, you’re not being serious,” Grace says in disbelief. When she is met with silence, she suddenly softens up again. “ _Wow_ , okay,” she adds, going back to lying next to her sister. “How did that happen?”

Before she is able to answer, Florence is fully crying again. There is too much to process, and all her brain can handle at the moment is breaking down and letting some of it out. Grace sits her up and holds her in a tight hug. “I still don’t know why you’re _so_ upset,” Grace whispers. “What’s going on?”

With that, Florence tells her everything.

 _Everything_ everything.

From the night she met Isa, to the first time in the schloft, to their first gig, to the first time they kissed on a dare. She tells Grace about her existential dread, how scared she was that it was too late to create any sort of sustainable life for herself. She tells her the full truth about New York, about how “June” was a love-letter to Isa. She tells her about Isa’s admission on the beach, and then just about every detail of their night.

“Have you talked?” Grace asks when Florence eventually goes quiet. "Like, _actually_ talked?" Florence is calmer now that everything that was bothering her is fully off her chest.

Florence winces. “Not really. We just kind of fell asleep. It wasn’t super weird this morning though. I mean, she asked if we're okay but we obviously are.”

Grace nods. “That’s a lot, Floss.”

“Yeah.” She pauses, trying to find the words for how she is feeling about the whole thing. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually though.”  
  


—

Later that day, Evelyn declares that they’re all going for a walk on the beach. The rain had cleared up, and the house was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic with so many people in it.

Begrudgingly, Florence pulls her rain boots on and wordlessly follows Isa out the door along with everyone else. 

Things hadn’t been exactly awkward—they had gone about the day side by side like their normal selves, playing with the kids and making small talk with Evelyn and Florence’s cousins. Florence seemed a little bit lighter, and Isa maybe just a little bit quieter. Without either of them saying anything though, Isa just knows that Grace had managed to corner Florence and got her to spill everything just by the looks she is giving her. 

When the reach the beach, the kids begin to run around collecting shells and rocks and playing the games that kids do at the beach. The adults slowly make their way along the shore line, talking about their plans come January and things that they hadn’t yet caught up on. 

Florence and isa take up the back of the pack. The humid, salty air reminds Florence of the various humidifiers she had been subject to over the years on the road. Even though it’s sunny, the dreariness of the thin cover of clouds remind her of home; she realizes that if she stops thinking about it, she might as well be somewhere in Suffolk. 

She begins focusing on the rhythm created by her footsteps and the sound of the water moving across the shoreline. Her mind wanders back to the most recent tour. The American leg over the Summer had probably been the hardest tour of her career. Her anxiety and insomnia were both at an all time high, and neither of them were helped by the long stretches of time they would spend on the bus. Instinctively, Isa had stayed by her side through those weeks and months, slipping into her bunk until she would fall asleep, making plates of food she knew she would eat when they would get catering at the venues, nearly constantly playing Words With Friends to keep her entertained—the list could go on for days. She had stood behind her at every concert, looking on in awe as Florence would command crowds at even the most seemingly remote cities.

Florence then digs further back to the tour before that: the tour that had started with the half-exciting-half-absolutely-fucking-terrifying news that they were headlining Glastonbury. She and Isa were all of three months into their newfound sobriety when that call came, so where they normally would have gone and immediately drowned the nerves in vodka, they had a quiet night in, discussing potential setlists and all the work that needed to be accomplished in a short amount of time. 

The tour that followed that huge gig was difficult—Florence’s foot was still in a ton of pain despite being cleared by the doctors, and she declined any and all pain medication short of a small amount of anti-inflammatories. She feared slipping back into the place she had gotten herself out of so much that she preferred to deal with the agonizing pain than jeopardize her recovery. 

Isa struggled too; having been a heavy drinker from the time her parents divorced when she was twelve, finding ways to relax became increasingly difficult as time went on. She and Florence spent a lot of time tightly holding each other that tour, hoping that the other’s embrace would be enough to make up for the lack of substances.

Even though sober was being hard, somehow being drunk and high nearly _constantly_ had been even harder. 2009 all the way to 2012 was basically a giant blur of feeling depressed, hungover, and a little nauseous with shows in between. Though their relationships, mental states, and overall health had deteriorated pretty rapidly in those years, the shows never revealed it. They had landed huge gigs. They had produced two highly successful albums. They were creating an international name for themselves. Life consisted of parties and shows, occasionally stopping to eat or sleep. Looking back now, Florence knows it was probably the stupidest thing she’ll ever do, but she doesn’t regret it—it had got her to where she is now, after all.

And before that, they were just two kids in a squat party, trying to make the most of whatever Peckham had to offer at two in the morning on a weekday night. From the moment she was formally introduced to Isa, Florence had known there was something different about her—a spark, a certain kind of energy that made her realize she conceived the world the same way Florence did.

And Isa had felt it too.

When Florence thinks back on the past decade, she can’t exactly pinpoint where she fell in love with Isa. She doesn’t even know if that’s what she’s trying to say. It was like they were two souls living in perfect parallel; even though they went through all the same ups and downs and twists and turns, their lives had never intersected. She was too afraid that if they did, they would crash and spiral into two entirely different paths. Now though, it felt more like they could just meld into one.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand sliding into hers as she watches the water rush in and out. She looks over, and Isa is still staring straight ahead as she gently runs her thumb over the back of Florence’s fingers. Florence smiles and gently leans into Isa for a second. There is so much left to discuss, but the small gesture is a bit of reassurance that the conversation from last night on the very shore they now found themselves on isn’t over.

That night, Florence quickly gets ready for bed before sliding under the covers. She isn’t entirely sure she’s ready to have the discussion that’s been weighing on her mind all day, and she knows that if she pretends to fall asleep before Isa gets out of the shower that Isa won’t want to wake her. 

She knows it’s a necessary discussion—you can’t exactly write an entire album about someone only for them to call you out on it and never discuss it again. The day had been so nice though, and after talking with Grace earlier she felt like she could at least breathe for the time being. 

When she hears the bathroom door quietly creak open, she quickly closes her eyes and deepens her breathing—she had learned that Isa could tell if she was really asleep just by how deep her breaths were back when she was dealing with the insomnia on tour.

She feels the weight of Isa shift the bed ever so slightly, and then feels her curl into her back. She is relieved that Isa fell for it and that this discussion could wait for another time.

Just as she’s really about to fall asleep though, she hears the tiniest of gasps escape from Isa’s lips and notices that she’s trembling. 

Immediately, she turns herself around to face Isa.

“Come here,” Florence says, tenderly wrapping her arms tightly around Isa. Isa starts crying harder, no longer worried about waking Florence. 

Florence kisses the top of her head, gently cradling it to her chest. She runs her thumb along Isa’s temple and wonders if Isa was starting to have doubts about what had happened. 

Once Isa calms down, she finally works up the courage to ask. 

“What’s wrong?”

Isa offers up a small smile as she tries to calm her erratic breathing. “Can I ask you something?’

Florence wordlessly nods. 

“Can you tell me about that song?”

Florence doesn’t have to ask which one. She wipes a tear from under Isa’s eye and then lightly kisses the spot between her eyebrows. It had been years since she’d seen Isa cry like this, and she would do anything to stop it. 

She tries to think of how to explain that song with a beautiful speech, or a powerful sentence that would convey exactly how she feels. The answer is so simple though, and there’s really no other way to put it. “I’ve always been in love with you Iz,” she says plainly. “It’s as simple as that, really. I think it just kind of hit me hard that summer with everything else going on.”

Isa nods. “Did it scare you?”

Florence blinks away tears as she tries to form an answer. Again, she decides to just go with the simplest one. “It fucking _terrified_ me.”

“Me too,” Isa replies, sinking into the comfort of Florence’s shoulder. “I wanted to tell you years ago.”

“When?” Florence whispers. 

Isa bites her lip, thinking back to a very specific hotel room in Chicago from three-and-a-half years ago.

It had been one of those weird nights where Isa didn’t end up in Florence’s room. She fell asleep with her laptop to one side of her while a news station played from the television. Throughout the night she had been stuck in one of those weird dreams where she couldn’t quite tell what was reality and what was merely an image in her head. 

The lights of the television flashed from behind her eyelids as she dreamt of a typical late night at the Joiner’s Arms with Florence, Grace, and Sophie. Florence was on top of a table, drunkenly singing to some top-40 pop song as Grace laughed below her. The lights were flashing as the bass shook the floor, and Isa happily danced with Sophie through the haze of party pills she had taken. It was a pretty typical night—they, along with everyone else in the building, were happy. They were all so high that it felt like nothing could ever hurt them, and in that space—in that _sacred_ , _safe_ space in the darkness of the night—nothing ever did.

Suddenly though, there was shouting. Screaming. She could hear people calling police. 

A loud boom woke her out of her sleep, and her eyes immediately fixated on the television. 

_49 people killed in Orlando nightclub_ she could read through her blurry vision.

The television showed scenes of chaos recorded from phones, and played 911 calls on a loop. She sat with her heart in her throat for a moment before quickly dialing Florence’s room phone. 

“Hello?” she could hear Florence groggily whisper from across the line. 

“Can you come over?” Isa said with her voice breaking as the television flicked to an image of a young, bloodied-up guy being wheeled out of the nightclub on a stretcher.

“Yeah,” Florence said, immediately worried upon hearing Isa’s shaky voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just—get over here please.”

Within twenty seconds, there was knocking at her door.

Without even checking to see who it was, Isa opened the door. She tightly threw her arms around Florence and broke down into sobs. 

“Hey, hey, shhh, you’re okay,” Florence said gently while holding onto her and slowly walking into the room. It was just a little bit past five in the morning, and Florence figured that it was probably just a nightmare. 

Florence stood with her, firmly rubbing her hand up and down her back and gently cradling her head to her shoulder. Isa was shaking harder than she’d ever seen before. After a few minutes, Isa slipped out of her arms and slid down the wall, unable to stand up anymore. 

It was then that Florence started to hear what was coming from the television. She left Isa’s side after quickly kissing her on the head, and stood in front of the screen, watching the terrifying scenes unfold in front of her. After minutes of watching people standing in shock and fear, she couldn’t handle it anymore. She felt the side of the monitor for a power button until it finally switched off. 

She walked back over to Isa’s side and started crying right along with her. They held each other close until no tears were left, and then made their way to the large bed in the center of the room. 

Isa laid across Florence’s chest and they listened to the sounds of an early-morning in Chicago, trying to numb themselves from what they had just seen. 

Shadows of skyscrapers filled the room as they listened to cars and crosswalks, birds and air-conditioning units. At some point, they could faintly hear a choir singing in Latin, probably an early morning mass at the cathedral next to their hotel. 

Just as the sun started to come up, Isa broke the silence. “I had one of those dreams where you could hear everything going on around you and I guess I heard the T.V. We were at the Joiner’s, and then it just…” she trails off. She doesn’t have to finish it—Florence knew exactly what Isa was trying to explain. 

“Oh Iz,” she whispered as she cradled her head closer. 

After awhile, they fell into a restless sleep that was only calmed by the feeling of each others chests rising and falling with each gentle breath. 

When they woke around eleven, Florence opened the window, and the sky was a solid dark grey. 

That day had passed slowly, that news hitting a little too close to home for everyone. 

Florence and Isa stayed within arm's reach of each other all the way up until the start of the show. The truth was, no one was feeling up to it and Florence didn’t know if it would be more or less painful for everyone in that venue to acknowledge it. She wanted to help people forget if that's what they needed—but she was also just _sad_.

On that stage, it felt like reality was starting to blur. Her heart was heavy and for the first time in a _long_ time, she wanted nothing more than to drown the feeling in drugs or drink.

Isa felt it too, plainly breaking down in the middle of Spectrum, and then again when Florence requested a moment of silence. She turned her back to the audience both times, pretending to fix something with the various wires connecting to her equipment.

When they all got off stage, they sat in a giant pile on a couch in one of the dressing rooms, gently hugging each other in silence until some of the crew told them the bus would leave with or without them. 

That was the night that Isa considered telling Florence how she felt. Isa slept in Florence’s room in the hope that she wouldn’t be reminded of her dream or what she’d seen on the television. That day she felt the weight of just how precious life was, and her dream the previous night had only served to remind her of how utterly terrified she was of something ever happening to Florence. 

She laid in Florence’s arms, inhaling the familiar scent of her detergent as she worked up the nerve to say something about how she had felt all these years. She had loved Florence from the day she met her and that strong sense of love had started eating away at her as she watched Florence go through heartbreak. Every time she would inhale and go to ask Florence if she could talk to her about something though, some feeling deep in her chest would stop her. Eventually, when Florence fell asleep, she just gave up.

Little did she know though, Florence had slipped out of bed in the middle of the night, a simple refrain of “hold onto each other,” stuck in her head. She took the pad of paper on her nightstand and tiptoed to the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub while furiously scribbling out a rough poem that would transform into a song within the next few hours.

_You’re broken hearted and the world is too_

_and I’m beginning to lose my grip._

_I’ve always held it loosely but now I admit—_

_I feel it really starting to slip._

_Choirs and birds sang in the street_

_when I ran to your door_

_and watched the television screen in your hotel room._

_You know I’m always down to hide with you._

_Then the show was ending_

_and I was starting to crack._

_I wanted to be higher than the angels_

_up in the sky that had gone black._

_These heavy days of June,_

_when love is a simple act of defiance..._

_*_

_“_ Chicago,” Isa blurts out quickly as thunder begins to rumble. “I wanted to tell you that weekend in Chicago. But I figured I wasn’t even out to you—” she pauses, “—or _myself_ really.”

“I think coming out to myself was the hardest part of all of this,” Florence quietly agrees as she stares at the ceiling. She feels her lungs burn as she thinks back to how she felt during those days and weeks. That day had been one of the hardest of their entire friendship—it was just too real, too close to a place that they would’ve frequented in their younger years. “You know I wrote that entire song that night?”

Isa shakes her head. Florence didn't have to even say the name of the song for Isa to know exactly what she was referencing. “I thought you wrote it later honestly.”

“I was completely overwhelmed, and I was so worried about you—I had to get it out,” Florence begins. She gently runs her fingertips over Isa’s back, trying to get her to calm down that last little bit. “It was a love letter to you, Iz,” she adds quietly.

Isa had always known that the song was about her—it was far too specific to be about anything or anyone else. To call it a _love letter_ though? _That_ changed its whole meaning.

“I kind of had to omit the whole verse where I proclaimed my love for my best friend,” she says, kissing Isa’s forehead. “I’ll try to find the notepad when we get home.”

Isa isn’t sure what to say. There is much to think about, and right now, she just wants to try and sink into the comfort of Florence's embrace. With one long exhale, she whispers, “I love you Flo.”

Even though it had been said hundreds of times before, this one felt different.

Florence kissed the bridge of her nose, then her lips, and then the back of her hand before wrapping her arms back around her. “I love you too.”

—

The next day they get ready together. There is no cornering to be done by Grace, though she is sure to send Florence no less than a text every hour asking for updates.

After breakfast, Florence gets caught up in playing with Bonnie and a few of her cousin’s young children. They sit on the floor of the living room connecting little wooden pieces of track together before sending toy cars flying down the slopes they create. Isa looks on, laughing when Florence seems even more into it than the kids do. 

“Anyone want to walk to the coffee shop?”

“Ooh, yes please,” Isa says, never one to turn down coffee. The other adults politely decline, too caught up in conversation (and play time) to want to get up and walk across town.

“Flo, you want anything?” Isa asks, laughing as one of the little toddlers runs a car up and down her arm.

Florence smiles from her spot on the ground. “Plain latte, heavy cream?” she requests. “Sorry, I’d come but I’m a bit busy,” she laughs, dramatically sending a car down the track. Isa leaves her with a pat on the head and then follows Evelyn out the door.

The walk to the shop is nice. Isa tells Evelyn about one of her new projects for a film that she was doing in their time off, and Evelyn tells Isa about a new class on textiles in the Renaissance that she is going to teach in the Spring. Evelyn is also sure to point out a few of her favorite childhood stops, and laughs as she recalls a funny story about Florence going missing on a family vacation when she was about twelve only to find her in the record store that they pass by.

They decide to sit and enjoy their coffees before ordering the various orders they had from the people who stayed back. Isa enjoys Evelyn’s company—she had taken a liking to her pretty immediately when they were starting out, trusting her to make sure Florence stayed in line when she was traveling at the young age of nineteen or twenty.

They talk about the most recent tour, and what they have planned next before Evelyn says something that startles Isa.

“You know, you could’ve just told me you were dating,” she says casually. Isa nearly chokes on her coffee, but does her best to hold it together.

“Pardon?”

Evelyn laughs and shakes her head. “I saw you two on the shore the other night,” she says. “I couldn’t sleep so I went out on the porch to watch the storm. Odd time of day to go to the beach.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Isa says plainly, her eyes wide and her face going red. 

Evelyn notices and has to hold back a laugh. “Don’t worry, I left as soon as I saw you. I didn’t want to intrude on an intimate moment. You’re cute together though! And I don’t know why you even try to hide it. I mean, my brother actually asked me the other day how long you two had been together, and to be honest, I’ve been wondering too.”

Isa tries and fails to find words. _Is it even worth trying to deny anything at this point?_ she asks herself. _  
_

“Yeah, ehm, we both really like watching storms,” Isa says, trying to ignore her subtle question about how long they had _been together_. 

Evelyn laughs again. “Apparently. You wouldn’t have been able to convince me to go and sit out in that rain for any amount of money in the world.”

Isa just nods.

“So,” Evelyn begins as she places her cup down, “how long _has_ this been going on?”

—

“Hiya, Florence says sweetly as Isa and Evelyn return to the house. “How was coffee?” she asks as Isa presses her cup into her hand.

“It was good,” Isa blurts out. “I need to run upstairs and grab something,” Isa adds, quickly running up the stairs. 

Not a second later, Florence’s phone buzzes with a text from Isa.

_COME UP HERE NOW_

Florence bites her lip before excusing herself from the elaborate racetrack she had created with the kids. There are whines about her leaving, but she ignores them as she runs up the stairs.

“What’s going on?”

“I just told your mother we’ve been dating for a year.”

“You _what_?” Florence says with a slight tremble.

“She saw us on the beach the other night.”

“Fuck,” Florence says quietly. Her mouth is wide open, and her pupils are fully dilated. “ _Fuck_!”

Isa nods, jumping onto the bed. “She said we ‘ _looked cute together_ .’”

Florence groans and flops down beside Isa. “Leave it to my mother to be awake at three in the morning.”

Isa stiffles a giggle. “I mean, I think it’s kind of funny.” 

Florence looks at her incredulously before nearly joining in. “You think this is _funny_ ?”

“We were too stupid to realize we were both in love with each other, both scared of admitting we might like girls, and both _terrified_ of telling each other about any of it, but the moment your mother sees us kissing she’s just like ‘ _Oh yeah, that makes sense_ ’? Yeah, that’s kind of funny to me.”

Then Florence can’t control herself anymore, and they are both laughing. “Jesus _Christ_ my life is a mess,” she whines. “So when _exactly_ did we ‘start dating’?”

“Right near the end of the European tour. We realized we both had feelings, and I asked you out.”

Florence chuckles as she shakes her head. “This is fucked.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We’re going to have to tell people.”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay with this?”

Isa sighs with a small smile. “I’m going to have to be. I guess it's better to rip off the bandaid anyway.”

Florence nods in agreement. “And you know what? We’ve pretty much been dating the last _ten_ years, if we’re being honest. We were just too chicken to call it that.”

Isa laughs. “You’re right. It’s gonna be okay.”

Florence smiles and gently kisses her before leading her back downstairs by the hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so SO sorry this is so late, I got majorly caught up in other things :( 
> 
> Tbh I think June might be my favorite fatm song... I sobbed the first time I heard it, and then again when someone pointed out that they were in Chicago during the Orlando tragedy (thus kind of confirming that the song is about that), and again yet when I saw her perform it in person. I think this is a pretty accurate guess (as far as guesses go) about why/how/when it was written, minus the whole Florence and Isa being in love thing. But I do like to think that "I'm always down to hide with you" is a reference to Isa with the amount of times they spend together in hotels (if you need a reference just go look up #Florabella on your choice of social media to see hundreds of pictures of them in hotel beds together).
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, I really love reading them and hope you leave more! I hope everyone has had a lovely new years so far x


	4. Chapter 4

The morning of New Year’s Eve, Florence and Isa sneak out of the house early enough to catch the sun rise over the sea. It is colder than it had been, and Florence is smart to remember to bring along an old blanket to wrap themselves under as the horizon gradually takes on an orange glow. 

“I’m glad I came with,” Isa says quietly after a while. Florence doesn’t respond with words, simply holding her tighter and softly kissing her temple as the tide gradually moves further and further away from where they are sitting. 

Florence was glad Isa came too. For one, she knows she wouldn’t have made it through this week without the constant presence of her biggest supporter. For all the years she had spent distancing herself from Isa, she was happy that this one week had proven that it was all completely unnecessary.

And without Isa agreeing to come with, Florence would have only continued to wonder about what her future held. In the span of a week, her future had become more solidified than it ever had been at any point in her life. That in and of itself was a huge comfort; the warmth of Isa was a huge bonus to go along with it.

Isa happily sinks into the comfort of Florence’s shoulder as she ponders the events of the past week. Events that she could have only dreamed of a few years ago when she was alone in Los Angeles, desperately trying to quell her need for Florence’s constant presence. She too spends time wondering if that distance was actually necessary, or if it was only established out of fear of the unknown.

As the cold air becomes slightly warmer from the sun, Isa mindlessly traces over the tattoos on Florence’s hands. 

The little “v” on the side of her pinky for Vali Myers. 

The asterisk on her pointer finger. 

The birdcage Isa had accompanied her to get long ago somewhere in America. 

The “3” she’d gotten on her ring finger to celebrate her sobriety; the same ring finger Isa took her to the ER for after she’d punched a wall and broken it in the middle of a drunken breakdown on tour. 

“GRACE” written out in big letters on the inside of her middle finger.

The air and water symbol that Isa had watched her create in a hotel room somewhere in Europe.

Isa finally settles her attention on the crucifix on Florence’s right hand, tracing it over and over again with the tip of her finger until Florence breaks the peaceful silence. 

“I got this for you, you know,” she says just above a whisper. Her voice is reverant, and Isa wonders if she heard her correctly. 

She never quite understood what the crucifix meant, other than it’s imagery making an appearance in “How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.”

To be fair though, she was never even sure what that entire _song_ meant. It was vague but beautiful, and Isa never questioned it much, just like she never questioned so many other things Florence created. It was Isa’s absolute favorite song; the instrumental part at the end brought her to a place like nowhere else on earth, somewhere warm and high-up, as if she was standing on top of a mountain looking over the world. 

The few times they would perform it fully orchestrated, she would watch in awe as Florence would stand in silence with her eyes closed at the end, getting lost in the brass and strings. 

Isa just _knew_ that they took her to the same exact place they brought her.

She looks up at Florence, to see if maybe she could gather what she was thinking. Now that Florence had said that, she just _had_ to know the meaning behind the tiny crucifix on her hand. The pink sky above them is warm and inviting, and Isa wonders if now is the time to see if she can get Florence talking some more. 

When she meets Florence’s eyes though, they are closed, her lips holding a slight, knowing smile as she absorbs the warmth of the sun on her face.

They arrive back at the house in time for breakfast. Florence’s uncle had gone out to a bakery, and now there were warm bagels waiting for everyone on the table. 

“Morning date on the beach?” Evelyn asks as they shut the heavy wooden door behind them. 

Florence grimaces, but Isa unflinchingly answers. “Yeah, we figured we don’t have any more sunrises here to spare,” with a smile before her mother has a chance to even notice the pained expression on her face. “It was beautiful.”

“How nice,” she replies back with a grin. Grace smiles and shakes her head, and Bonnie comes running over to tell Florence and Isa how excited she is to stay up until midnight. Isa knows that there is no way the four year old has any concept of time, and that even if she did, she wouldn’t make it. She picks her up and swings her around in excitement anyway as Grace and Dan hurry to get their bagels, thankful for Isa and a moment of peace. 

The day goes by quickly between board games and impromptu jam sessions and plenty of storytelling. Isa marvels at how quickly she was welcomed into Florence’s extended family as she tells them about her parent’s bookstore on the beach and her many funny experiences DJing at odd gigs. It felt natural as they all hung on her every word and laughed in all the right places. Some of them had even taken to calling her “Bella,” a name that was normally reserved for her closest friends; with them though, it somehow felt right.

At some point they all walk to the coffee shop for one last drink before they are due to fly back tomorrow. Isa confidently grabs Florence’s boney hand the second they walk out the door, and no one bats an eye as they walk hand in hand the entire way to the downtown area. 

Florence feels a peace wash over her as she remembers the gloomy days of walking the same streets alone only a few years back. She felt tired and heavy back then, as if she were carrying the darkest secrets of the world on her back. It had been oppressively hot, and she wished there was someone, anyone to walk alongside her. She is replacing those memories with better ones, ones with big grey eyes and long ashy-blonde hair she realizes as Isa laughs beside her. 

Around nine that night, Grace pulls out her laptop and brings up the recorded live-stream of the ball-drop in London that had happened hours ago. Bonnie is fading fast, and Grace has to shake her awake to get her attention to the laptop. 

“It’s almost midnight!” she says excitedly as the adults all hold their laughter. “Look! Start counting down!”

The volume is turned all the way up on the laptop, and someone cuts the lights in the living room to make the moment more intense for the four year old. Bonnie sleepily counts down backwards with the announcer, and then jumps up and down as the fireworks go off against the black sky on the bright screen. 

“Happy New Years!” the adults all say as Bonnie goes around, excitedly hugging every one of them. 

Florence and Isa hug her tightly, wishing her a happy new year before Grace carries her up the stairs, already half asleep, to bed.

  
After all the kids are put to bed, drinks come out and stories become slightly more inappropriate and _much_ more funnier. Florence feels so much lighter than she did only a week ago—it is sad to think about how much time she had wasted only because neither she nor Isa were very forthcoming with their feelings. She is content, though, leaning against Isa on the large chair in the corner of the room, listening to her mother and uncle tell stories about all the trouble they would get up to in their younger years. 

The fireplace is going and Florence and Isa sip on coffees as the adults of her mother’s generation start having the great “Beatles versus Stones” debate. Florence definitely has an opinion, but she stays out of it, laughing as her uncle as he shouts at her mother than she only preferred the Stones because of the one time she ran into them in a New York club as a teenager.

At midnight, they all walk to the beach, champagne and sparklers in hand as they wait out the final moments of the year. 

For a moment Florence usually dreads each year, she feels at peace with the year coming to an end. It had been a good year—busy, and at times, filled with anxiety, but overall, a good year. 

The last week of it had solidified that sentiment.

She watches the ocean roll back and forth, and thinks about what an incredible year she has in front of her if she has 52 weeks full of Isa to look forward to.

Florence squeezes Isa’s hand as they watch her uncle struggle to get the seal off a bottle of champagne. Isa leans her head against her shoulder, watching the stars slowly crawl against the dark sky, and thinking about how lucky she was to be here in this moment.

At 11:59, someone pulls up the official clock on their phone, and they count down the last thirty seconds of the year together. Florence and Isa both start to feel anxious as the numbers become smaller and smaller.

_Five_

Isa looks up to Florence, trying to get a read on what she is thinking.

_Four_

Florence bites her lip, as if to ask, _are we really going to do this?_

_Three_

Isa smiles and shrugs before confidently placing a hand on Florence’s hip.

_Two_

Florence shakes her head with a grin, letting her arms dangle over Isa’s shoulders.

_One_

Isa presses up onto her toes and places a hand on Florence’s cheek.

“ _Happy New Year!_ ” everyone screams in unison. Fireworks begin making their ascent from across the bay, and a few people light sparklers, waving them against the darkness of the night. Florence chuckles as she watches JJ struggle to pop his bottle of champagne, but before she has a chance to turn around and make fun of him, Isa’s lips are on hers, delicately caressing them as everyone gets lost in their own little moment. 

Her lips are warm against the cool air, and for a brief, passing moment, she wishes it were just the two of them out here again. She wishes she could redo that first _real_ kiss. 

But as she feels Isa’s teeth against her lips, her smile too big to contain, Florence knows that this is more than enough.

“Happy New Year, love,” Isa whispers just as Evelyn walks over to hug them both. 

  
  


—

  
  


“I have a late Christmas present for you,” Florence says meekly a few months later. Isa is sitting at the kitchen table, white morning light pouring in from the window behind her. She looks up from her book with a smile and a slightly quizzical look.

“It’s March,” Isa says with a laugh. Her hair is still in a messy braid that she had put it in the night before, and she is wrapped up in a silk robe that Florence’s friend had made for her years ago. “Why are you still giving me gifts?”

Florence quietly walks up behind her, wrapping her arms around Isa’s neck before pressing her lips to her head. “Because I wanted to give this to you back in Galveston, but it ehm—it took me a while to get together.”

Isa smiles. The last few months had been nothing short of blissful considering the chaos her life had descended into last year. When they had arrived back from Galveston, Florence had helped her clean up the last of her grandmother’s house, and then helped Isa respectfully arrange her most loved possessions throughout the space. Isa had been shocked to learn that the house had been left to her; she never thought that her grandmother would quietly leave behind a will giving her everything. But that is exactly what she had done, giving her treasured home to the granddaughter who had loved her so well in the last four decades of her life.

After her grandmother’s house was organized and lovingly decorated, Isa and Florence crossed the river to address the hundreds of boxes collecting dust in Florence’s “new” home that was becoming less new by the minute. It took a few weeks, but eventually the place held some of the character her previous home did, with plenty of space to add to it in the years to come. 

“So,” Florence had said after they finished hanging the last painting and packed away all of the boxes that needed to be recycled, “what now?”

Isa had bitten her lip and shrugged. “I’ll move some things over here, and you can bring some things over to Nan’s?”

And that was how it began, the subtle transition to living together, going back and forth across the river whenever one of them realized they needed something from the other home or they just needed a change of scenery.

“So what is it?” Isa asks as Florence pours a cup of coffee from the pot and adds an ungodly amount of milk to it. She has her hair up in a loose bun, and for the first time that year, it is warm enough that she had made the transition from long pyjama bottoms to satin shorts. 

“It’s really not much,” Florence says with a laugh, the kind of laugh that tells Isa it is probably going to be _entirely_ too much. Florence puts her coffee down in front of the chair next to Isa, and then briefly disappears before returning with what looks like one of her many notebooks. 

She sits down next to Isa and places the book in front of her. It has a leather cover, which upon further inspection, has the skyline of Los Angeles embossed onto it. Isa bites her lip and without even knowing what’s inside, tears pool in her eyes. 

“You can’t start crying yet!” Florence says with a sympathetic laugh as she brings her knees up to her chest. “You don’t even know what it is.” She gently slides the book towards Isa and wraps an arm around her before kissing her temple.

Isa shakes her head and removes the red ribbon tied around the dark brown cover. When she opens it, the old polaroid of them on the night they met slips out, but this time, written in Florence’s unmistakable handwriting, is a note on the bottom of it. 

_Could you tell it from the moment that I met you?_

Immediately Isa’s face twists up, as she once again studies the photo; they were both _so_ young. She wishes she could go back in time and tell both of them everything she knows now. Tears are flowing steadily as she turns to wrap Florence in a tight hug. 

Florence smiles, hugging Isa tightly as she cries into her shoulder. “I love you,” she whispers as she runs her hand up and down Isa’s back.

Eventually, Isa composes herself enough to start turning the pages. 

The first page contains a scrap of one of Florence’s old notebooks, the grid unmistakably from the early years of their friendship.

It is a poem about unrequited love, with big black marks covering up certain words that Isa realizes are probably names that Florence didn’t want to have to look at. It takes Isa a moment, but then it all hits her at once. 

“ _No_ , Flo,” she whispers solemnly, tracing her finger along the page. “This can’t be—this isn’t—”

Florence cuts her off by turning the page, and there is yet another scrap of the grid paper. The title underlined at the top reads “A Song for a Scribbled Out Name.”

_Falling’s not the problem,_

_When I’m falling I’m at peace._

_It’s only when I hit the ground,_

_It causes all the grief._

_I’m not scared to jump,_

_I’m not scared to fall,_

_If there was nowhere to land,_

_I wouldn’t be scared at all._

“It was always about you, Isa,” Florence says quietly when Isa finishes reading it. “I’ve been scared of hitting the ground for more than a decade, only to find out it’s quite peaceful down here,” she adds with a slight smile.

Isa shakes her head and turns the page, only to find more poems and notes and drawings Florence had scribbled down through the years. Little lyrics here and there that made their way into songs, poems that were too personal to ever see the light of day.

Eventually Isa turns to a page that has a messy drawing of the Hollywood sign and a crucifix. In between them is a little caricature, presumably Florence, crying.

The next page simply reads _you fucked me up, and now here i am, waiting for you to wake up._

Isa holds her breath, knowing exactly when this note was written. 

Little to Isa’s knowledge, it was a weekend performing at the Hollywood Bowl that Florence finally conceded to herself that she cared about Isa far more than she did about any other of her friends. What exactly that meant, she wasn’t sure, but it confused the hell out of her and all she could manage to do was write about it.

What _didn’t_ help her confusing revelation was Isa delivering the news that she would be moving out to L.A. following the tour that same weekend. She wanted to show Florence the apartment she had found, and she couldn’t put off telling her any longer. 

Florence had started sobbing uncontrollably when Isa told her, and Isa struggled to remind herself that distancing herself from Florence would be best for both of them. She was struggling to hold her feelings back, and she desperately wanted to salvage their friendship before things got out of control. 

They spent that weekend in parallel agony, wondering how’d they survive without the other. Neither of them knew the other felt the same exact way. 

The weekend following the Hollywood Bowl, a man jumped from space, landing not far from where they were, setting a new record for longest free-fall. Isa and Florence watched the feat from a laptop on the balcony of Isa’s hotel room while the sun set in the background.

“It’s just so massive here,” Isa had marveled, looking up towards the clear American sky long after the man had safely landed and the laptop had been closed. “Massive, and the brightest blue I’ve ever seen.”

The first morning alone in her new apartment that year, she woke up to a text from Florence. 

_Looking up at the sky here, feeling peace that this same sky covers you. How big, how blue, how beautiful it is over there on the other side. Call me when you wake up x_

Hesitantly, Isa turns the page, and just as she expected, there lies the long stationary holding the lyrics to her favorite song. 

Looking at the words now, she wonders how she never pieced together what this song _truly_ meant before. 

Again she bursts into tears, laughing slightly only when she reaches the bottom of the page which reads _trumpets so loud they make you want to tear your heart out_ in parenthesis, as if Florence had known from the beginning exactly what she wanted the song to sound like. 

Isa turns to Florence as her heart beats out of her chest. “You know this is my—”

“Favorite song, I know,” Florence finishes for her. “It was entirely for you. That was such a weird time, and there was so much I wanted to tell you but I felt like I couldn’t, and I was just so confused. Writing this was the only thing I could do.” Isa nods as she tries to fight back tears. “I took so much comfort when you were in L.A. knowing that you were looking at the same crucifix I had spent so much time looking at, and that the same sky that covered London would cover you a few hours later.” Florence pauses, looking up to find Isa looking lovingly back at her. “It was _always_ about you.”

Gently, Isa grabs Florence’s hand. “So this—” she says, gesturing to the intricate tattoo of the crucifix, “was about that?”

Florence nods, and Isa notices that she’s starting to cry now too. “Yeah. I got it in an attempt to find some closure from time, and it ended up just being a huge reminder every day of how fucked up I was without you there beside me,” she laughs through the tears.

“Oh, Flo,” Isa replies gently. She rises to her feet and then grabs Florence’s hands to pull her up from her spot on the chair next to her. 

“I love you,” she says, holding her tight as they sway back and forth, their bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. Eventually Isa pulls back slightly before quickly pressing herself up on her toes to kiss Florence.

Her lips are soft and warm, and taste of the coffee she had been sipping on. After a moment of softly caressing Isa’s lips with hers, Florence presses her forehead to Isa’s and smiles. “There’s more.”

So much more, Isa realizes, as she continues turning the pages. 

There is one page with another drawing of a crucifix and a broken heart, with the beginnings of a song that hurt Florence so badly it took her a whole year to sing live:

_You’ve got a hold on me,_

_I don’t know how I don’t just stand outside and scream._ _  
_

_I am teaching myself to be free._

_Now hold onto your heart,_

_Please keep it safe._

_Hold onto your heart,_

_Don’t give it away._

The next is a few lines from “Hiding,” which suddenly becomes painful as Isa rereads the lyrics:

_I know that you’re hiding,_

_I know there’s a part of you that I just cannot reach._

_You don’t have to let me in._

_I know I seem shaky,_

_These hands not fit for holding._

A line from “Caught” also really gets Isa, the words becoming loud as she reads them from a sticky note:

_This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do_

_To try and keep from calling you._

And then suddenly the pages turn more recent, the original outlines of “The End of Love” and “South London Forever” and “No Choir” just beneath her fingertips in black ink. They’re all on Chateau Marmont stationary that Florence had stolen throughout the years, but when she reaches the last page, it’s on a different stationary that reads “Omni Chicago” in the corner. Dotted along the page are a few tear drops, smearing the ink into little grey circles. 

Isa holds her breath as she begins reading Florence’s messy script.

_You’re broken hearted and the world is too_

_and I’m beginning to lose my grip._

_I’ve always held it loosely but now I admit—_

_I feel it really starting to slip._

_Choirs and birds sang in the street_

_when I ran to your door_

_and watched the television screen in your hotel room._

_You know I’m always down to hide with you._

_Then the show was ending_

_and I was starting to crack._

_I wanted to be higher than the angels_

_up in the sky that had gone black._

_These heavy days of June,_

_when love is a simple act of defiance._

_In the darkness alone,_

_I can feel your heart beating in your chest._

_So many things I wish I could say;_

_I cry but the world turns till there’s nothing left._

_And yet we hold on to each other_

_Hold on to each other,_

_Hold on to each other._

After reading those ultimately omitted lines a few times through, she turns the page, and it holds the final draft of “June.”

She turns again only to find empty whiteness. 

“I left some pages to add to,” Florence says quietly.

Isa shakily exhales and then carefully closes the book before meticulously tying the red ribbon back around it. 

It takes her a second to collect her thoughts as Florence patiently traces circles into her back. “You have no idea how relieving it is to know I wasn’t alone through those years Flo, even if I didn’t know it at the time,” Isa says as she once again sinks into her arms.

Florence gently rubs her back and presses small kisses to the crown of her head. “We were stupid, but hey, we got some good music out of it,” she says with a slight smile. 

“Thank you,” Isa says shakily. “For everything. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

—

That year, Christmas is held in Highgate, in Isa’s grandmother’s house. Isa had managed to get her decorations out of storage, and Florence had happily accompanied her to pick out a tree that her Nan would have approved of. They also had brought over a few of Florence’s decorations, and after a few days of dedicated work, Isa was in tears looking at the place. It reminded her of the warm childhood Christmases she had with her grandmother before her family had split apart. 

Christmas morning consists of a quiet breakfast of coffee and fruit and Belgium waffles from an old waffle maker Florence had unearthed while unpacking all those months ago. They sit at the small kitchen table in their matching pyjamas Florence had bought last year, reminiscing about Galveston and all their adventures over the past few months. 

Begrudgingly, they eventually rise from the table and get ready for the day, arranging gifts under the tree and starting a few main dishes.

Around ten Grace arrives with Dan and Bonnie, and shortly thereafter JJ arrives with his now _fiance_ , who meekly smiles when Isa insists on seeing her ring. Isa’s brothers eventually arrive in time for lunch, along with their wives who happily give into playing princesses with Bonnie, who had received _plenty_ of dress-up clothes from her favourite aunts. 

Lunch is a bit crammed, with all the food spread out over various side tables and ottomans, but the space is filled with laughter and stories and Florence and Isa graciously play the role of hosts. 

Somewhere in the afternoon all of the siblings leave, and are replaced by their parents and a few of Isa’s aunts and uncles for dinner.

They all happily chat and eat, exchanging stories about growing up in various parts of the world and their favourite memories of Christmases past. 

Even though they are sitting on opposite ends of the table, somehow having both of her parents with her is a wonderful feeling for Florence; it is something that was never guaranteed to happen again, and she smiles as she listens to the two of them discuss some of the ridiculous things she and Grace used to do to try and catch a glimpse of Saint Nicholas.

Later, once everyone files out, Florence and Isa lie under the tree, hand in hand, looking up at all the ornaments and little lights. It smells a bit like burning plastic, but it reminds them of the awe they used to feel as little kids. Eventually Florence starts giggling at the absurdity of lying under a fir tree, and Isa turns to laugh with her, eventually capturing her lips in a kiss. The kiss turns into roaming hands, which turns into once clean and neat dresses being carelessly flung along a staircase, which leads to a good few hours having sex under warm and fluffy linens in Isa’s bedroom. 

—

“Flo,” Isa says gently at some point around two in the morning.

Florence is caught up in a dream, and is confused by Isa whispering her name and softly rubbing her arm. She is only wearing a bralette and a pair of shorts Isa had found for her, but the warmth of Isa’s body was keeping her surrounded in heat.

Florence groans ever so slightly, and then blinks her eyes open to look at Isa. “What is it?” she whispers sweetly. 

“I have a late Christmas present for you.”

Now Florence fully groans. “I thought we promised no gifts.”

Isa nervously laughs. “I don’t know if this really counts as a ‘gift.’ And you gave me a late gift last year that I’ll never be able to match.”

Florence smiles and shakes her head. “Alright, fine. Carry on.”

Isa can feel her heart thumping in her chest as she feels a small stone dig into her palm. Quickly, she forces herself to start talking before she gets so anxious no words come out.

“A year ago at this time, I was saying something I thought I was going to majorly regret,” Isa starts before leaning over to kiss Florence gently between her eyebrows. “And now I wanted to say something I know I’ll never regret.”

Florence laughs and furrows her eyebrows, her long, red hair falling over her shoulder as she props herself up on her elbow. “What are you talking—”

“Flo, I want to marry you.”

And then it hits her. A year ago, they were on a beach in the cold rain in America after one of the lowest days of Florence’s life, and now here they were, cuddled in a warm bed in London after a beautiful day filled with family and pure joy. 

“Isa,” Florence says, tears instantly beginning to fall as she feels Isa press a ring into her palm and then delicately close her fingers around it. Florence sits up in the bed and flicks the lamp on so she can actually see her. 

Isa’s grey eyes are teary, and Florence can see her shaking.

“Isa,” she says through tears, laughing at just how nervous Isa, the most confident person she knows, looks. Isa was never good with emotions, and Florence wants to wrap her up and never let go as she watches a tear fall from the corner of Isa’s eye.

She puts her hands on either side of Isa’s face and then kisses her softly before speaking. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she says, holding onto the ring in her hand as she throws her arms around Isa. “Though I don’t think you made it much of a question.”

Isa laughs and then pulls away, delicately prying Florence’s hand open and slipping it over the finger she broke so many years ago. It is a plain, vintage gold ring with a pale emerald at its center; Isa saw it in a shop a few months prior and knew she had to get it. She had carefully tucked it away in the back corner of a drawer, knowing exactly when she’d pull it out.

Florence glances briefly at the ring and then again bursts into tears with a huge smile on her face. 

They spend the next few hours wrapped in each other’s arms, too happy with life to fall asleep. They whisper and laugh until their eyelids get heavy, and then they spend the rest of the night like they do every night for the rest of their lives.

Simply holding on to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really should have just titled this "making all of my favorite fatm songs about isa"...
> 
> thank you for sticking with me through this super long hiatus. i got so caught up in school and could never justify sitting down and writing when i had a million actual assignments due. 
> 
> also sorry this took so long to get up (like, within the last two weeks... don't have as much of an excuse for the last few months). super ironically, i had written the beginning of this chapter like two months ago, and i had isa getting sick and flo nursing her back to health leading up to new years and it just felt... wrong with everything going on. so that was scrapped and i had to rewrite about 2000 words. 
> 
> i'll have another chapter of Under up within the week probably. if anyone has any ideas for a shorter fic like this to start i'd love to hear them! sometimes its fun to write something kind of mindless versus something plot heavy. tbh kinda want to write a fic in which i attribute the entirety of hbhbhb to isa lol. 
> 
> i hope you are all doing well with everything going on. i know this is a scary and uncertain time for a lot of people (myself included), and i'm hoping getting back to writing can be mutually beneficial for me and all of you. it would mean the world if you left comments, even if it's just to tell me how your day is going :)
> 
> as always, my tumblr is alwaysdowntohidewithyou, feel free to follow or message me!
> 
> wishing you all health, happiness, and peace x


End file.
